


If you ask

by johannesation



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Civil War, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bombing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Families of Choice, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Character Death, Multi, Mutual Pining, Omega Bucky Barnes, Post-War, Refugees, Slow Build, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johannesation/pseuds/johannesation
Summary: With fire and death raining from the skies, alpha Steve is forced to flee his solitary life in New York.Cue in—five over-competent pups, a cross-country road trip, feuding warlords, humor as a coping mechanism, way-too-much sexual tension, and finding family.***With his entire family dead, omega Bucky decides to escape his unwanted fate.Cue in—four snarky kids and a pooping baby, making allies across states, persevering refugees, battling one’s demons, distracting levels of shirtlessness, and finding love.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	If you ask

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the fanfic I have ever written. Really nervous about sharing it here. Will be writing and posting one chapter at a time. But I have the entire plot mapped out, so I have every intention of seeing the story through despite the nerves.
> 
> The story is set in an alternate dystopia A/B/O universe, with no connection to canon. There are many random easter eggs that hint at canon, though, and a lot of Marvel characters (from the comics, movies, TV shows and animated series) make appearances.
> 
> The story is also set in the 1970s but that is only from a technological standpoint (meaning there are no smartphones, etc). The political and social landscape is completely AU.
> 
> Also, the work is not beta read. Please feel free to point out any typos, I'll correct them.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading! 😊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Bombing and Death, Multiple Minor Character Deaths, Attempted Rape, Violence 
> 
> Also: mentions of an asthma attack, first-degree burns 
> 
> Please see the end notes for more context (and spoilers) on the warnings.
> 
> And please feel free to let me know if I have missed some warning, I'll be happy to add.

What woke Steve up in the dead of the night was the sound. He heard an explosion in the middle of his rather pleasant dream about sheep. Then, a deafening thud. The thud was so loud that he thought the roof had collapsed above him. Deeper sleepers than him would have roused. The thud was followed by a series of tremors that reverberated through the entire building, as though the structure’s supports were giving away somewhere.

He would later learn that a roof had indeed collapsed—not the one directly over his head (God be thanked) but one, just a floor above.

Before the blond alpha could make sense of the sounds and sensations around him, Steve was hit with the smells. Fuel fumes, sulfur (fireworks?), wood char—he would later blame his sleep-addled state for the embarrassing amount of time (almost a whole minute) that it took him to figure out what was happening.

The building was on fire.

He sprung up instantly, pulling the thin covers away. As he hurried out of the room in only the sweatpants he had fallen asleep in and the shoes by his bed, Steve wondered if the fire alarm had not gone off for some reason or if he had slept through it somehow.

Outside the room, the fire had already made its presence visible. He could see yellow flames creeping toward the end of the corridor that led to the stairway.

The corridor brought with it, its own slew of smells. Panic. Specifically, the acrid smell of a pup in panic. His feet moved automatically towards the spikes of distress that the pup’s olfactory glands were broadcasting.

Before he knew what was happening, he had reached the room at the end of the corridor near the stairway. And near the flames. The door was partially open—he could see fire on the other side. He pushed through to a scene straight out of a horror movie.

Fire, everywhere. The room was littered with burning rafters. The ceiling had partially collapsed and was also engulfed in flames. With the roaring fires the only source of light, the whole room glowed orange. His morbid brain supplied that this was perhaps what the real Hell’s Kitchen would look like as he cursed whoever had tempted the wrath of God by naming the locality that way.

A body lay on the floor at the entrance, crushed beneath a blazing rafter. Aamir. Steve bent down, at once, to shove the rafter off the young beta. But Aamir’s hand went limp when the beam shifted. Steve checked for a pulse. Fuck.

“Steve! Is that you? We’re under the bed,” came Kamala’s shaky voice from inside the room.

“Kamala! I’m coming. Stay right there for me.”

He scented the air. There were three pups under the bed.

Steve waddled through the room carefully—his mind deciding to inopportunely remind him of childhood games of ‘floor is lava’, except it was no fun when the floor was literally practically lava now.

Once at the bed, Steve lifted it, without a thought, to reveal Kamala huddled around Pietro and Wanda—the alpha in her instinctively reaching out to bodily shield the older betas despite her smaller frame. The twins seemed to be unconscious.

“Steve! I tried to protect them. Aamir said we should stay under the bed. He said to stay until you or Aunt May came. Then he stopped talking. He smelled so afraid, Steve! We didn’t know what to do. The twins and I kept calling. But bhaiya didn’t respond. Then Pietro…he had a coughing fit. And passed out. Wanda said it must be the fumes and we should conserve our breath. But she…she got loopy after a bit and passed out too. I…I didn’t know what to do. I just stayed here,” Kamala finished breathlessly, the white of her soft brown eyes having turned a wild red with fear (and the fumes, perhaps).

Steve could see her try to fight through her trembling. “It’s all right. You’re safe now,” he responded, tugging her into his arms.

He quickly checked the twins for injuries—they were still unconscious but were unharmed otherwise. He let out a small smile in relief, “And the twins are safe too. You did good, junior.”

Steve patted Kamala’s shoulder in approval and tucked her into his neck giving the pre-teen alpha access to his glands. He tried his best to project an air of an alpha in control, hoping the younger alpha would feel reassured enough to allow herself some repose.

After a few sniffs at his neck, the panic in Kamala’s usual sandalwood-with-notes-of-cherry scent started to ebb. In its wake, Steve felt his neck turn wet. Silent tears trickled down his bare chest as Kamala took in her older brother’s body near the door. Free of the rafter that had been its undoing, the body appeared demonstrably lifeless.

“I knew he had to be gone. I didn’t want it to be true, but I could tell. He didn’t smell like anything anymore,” said Kamala, her voice barely a whisper. The older alpha did not know what to say. So, he stayed quiet. He hugged her closer.

“Let’s go. Some of us have to survive this fire,” said Kamala, after some time. Steve pulled her gently off himself—her eyes were full of grim determination when they met his.

He nodded, scooping all three pups up in his arms effortlessly and making back for the door. His earlier lava wrangling meant he knew what path to take this time, and he made it safely to the corridor with the three children.

He continued to the fire exit that opened into the alleyway behind the building. Thank God they were on the ground floor. Fuck, he paused to think of the other residents.

The building, which used to be shipping warehouse, had been refurbished into a tenement, only last year. Very few rooms had been occupied so far—it was only the Maximoffs and the Khans on the first floor, and him on the ground floor. Wait, May and the infant had also moved in downstairs yesterday.

Last night’s dinner in the corridor came to him in a flash. Muneeba and Yusuf had cooked an entire feast in welcome of their new neighbor May. They had brought fluffy fragrant rice, a spiced dumpling curry, salad greens and even a milk pudding dessert—in quantities enough for more than ten people. Marya and Django had brought out their home-brewed non-alcoholic fruit wine. Steve had contributed by rolling out his spare sheet—a bright plaid cotton cloth in red and blue—like a picnic blanket along the corridor, and all of them had scooched to settle on it.

The Khan siblings and the twins had fawned over and cooed at the baby omega Peter throughout the evening while the adults swapped life stories. May had broken down in the middle, reminiscing about her recently deceased omega. The stress of the relocation had brought to the fore her anxieties about being the sole caregiver of the young Peter.

Steve could not really relate. Being a twenty-four-year-old unmated alpha, Steve had learned that he did not fit well with either the adults or the pups.

It wasn’t uncommon for alphas these days to stay unmated until their thirties but families with pups or young omegas were often wary of unmated alphas—they had a notoriety for arrogance and aggression.

Steve would have understood if the Khans or the Maximoffs had been suspicious of him. But they had welcomed him into their lives in the past year, with more warmth and kindness than he could have asked for. And he had made sure he would be an exemplary alpha, deserving of their trust.

Steve had his aggressive side too but liked to think he had it under check. He had grown up small and sickly, and though he did finally hit his alpha growth spurt, he would never forget how it felt to be picked on by larger bullies.

He wondered if the older alphas Marya and Yusuf had understood this about him somehow before they opened their homes to him. Well, he was not one to look a gift horse or a hot home-cooked meal in the mouth.

But he couldn’t deny the tug he felt for his own beta mother when they sat around playing happy families—she had been his only family. And now he was alone.

“Steve,” Wanda’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. “Are mom and mama still inside?”

Kamala looked over at her older friend with a calm resignation that belied her mere twelve years of age. Steve realized Kamala was not holding out hope for more survivors. “Steve, you should go check. Wanda and Pietro will be fine with me,” she said.

Steve took stock of his surroundings. He was in the back alley with the three children still in his arms. Rays of the dawn sun had begun to break through the smog-heavy sky. Their building was not the only structure that was on fire or collapsing.

He placed the twins gently on the gravel walkway while Kamala climbed off him herself. Now conscious, Wanda sat up straight. Steve positioned Pietro, who was yet to come to, with his spine supported against the metal letter box that was surprisingly still intact.

“I’ll be right back,” said Steve behind his shoulder as he quickly advanced inside the building again.

Making it to the first floor was not easy. Some of the stairs had come loose and some of the others were on fire. Steve managed to jump and skip along to the top—for all the bulk he had gained in his youth, he had not lost his childhood agility.

He opened the door to the Maximoffs’ one-room flat.

The fumes enveloped him completely—he thought his lungs were about to fail him like they often had when he was a child—making him cough violently. He paused and forced himself to breathe mechanically for a second. Breath in, breath out. He willed his nostrils to seek out the remaining oxygen in the air.

The stench of burning bodies overtook him. He could make out two ashen shapes in the bed—Marya and Django were dead. He swallowed as he wondered how he would break the news of their mothers’ death to the twins.

He didn’t have time to dwell. He moved on to the adjoining one-room flat, right above his own, where the Khans lived. The fire damage was worse here. The ceiling had collapsed completely. Steve surmised that Yusuf and Muneeba had made it out of bed—only to be crushed to death under chunks of the ceiling’s concrete. Kamala had been right.

He was suddenly overcome with a sense of immense gratitude that she and the twins had survived. Because the flats were so small, the four pups had taken to camping out in one of the empty flats downstairs for what they called slumber parties. There was more sleep and less partying involved but they had more space there than in their homes. The arrangement would have been temporary—new residents would have swarmed into the remaining flats within a month. But it must have been comfortable this way.

And of course, it turned out to be fortuitous—none of them would have survived had they been upstairs.

Steve returned to the corridor downstairs by leaping through one of the gaping holes on the first floor. He landed on his feet, without difficulty. Right in front of May’s shut door.

“May,” Steve called out and thumped on the door loudly. “Are you in there?”

With no response from the inside, he kicked the door down. There was barely any fire in the room, but a part of the ceiling had come loose. And the room was filled with smoke, coming from upstairs. It smelled overwhelmingly of sulfuric fumes.

He could see a sleeping figure on the bed. Steve crossed his fingers, in a prayer of hope.

He rushed to check May’s pulse. No. God, no. Please, no. She had died in her sleep from the smoke inhalation. Fuck.

He judged himself a little when he realized that the thought of being the only adult from the building to be alive was distressing him worse than the death of the other alpha. He had met her only yesterday, he reasoned. Yet, the death of a fellow human had to be sadder than whatever self-pity he was beginning to feel. He had to nip his miseries in the bud—there were three pups counting on him now.

Four, he amended, when the gentle-but-almost-sticky honey-and-honeysuckle scent of May’s baby omega pup wafted into his nostrils. Peter was alive!

Steve found Peter, apparently peaceful in his sleep, in the metal crib behind a curtain next to the bed. The curtain had likely saved Peter’s life. Steve wrapped the infant in a blanket and carried him outside, with care.

Pietro had regained consciousness, by the time Steve returned. The twins regarded him expectantly. Their subtle beta scents were filled with despair, belying their outward optimism. Steve shook his head slightly and then let it hang low with all the sorrow and guilt he felt.

He could see the twins hug each other, from beneath his lashes. Steve could not meet their eyes. “I don’t think anyone else is alive, in there,” he managed to say. “It’s just us now.”

A loud cracking sound pierced the morning air. It was unmistakably a gunshot. Before Steve could ascertain where it had come from (an adjacent lane?), Peter made his presence known with a sharp wail.

Pietro was the first to move. He reached out to take his almost-namesake from Steve’s arms. Steve let the baby go without complain—he trusted the younger beta much better than himself when it came to babies. Pietro began to hum to the infant gently and he quietened right away.

Steve peeked out of the alleyway onto the main street. He could hear angry voices and clanging noises. They seemed to be coming from one of the lanes to the left, across the street from their building. He could see three motorcycles, all painted the same shade of green, standing outside the lane. Westies. Fuck.

He scanned the street. Most of the buildings were on fire. Steve recalled the explosion that had woken him. There must have been an air raid—that was the only explanation that made sense. DC. Fuck. He had known that Thanos with his bomber planes (dubbed Titans for some reason?) would easily get the better of Skull and his gun gangs.

The gun gangs could easily get the better of him, though. Steve was Irish himself but knew that his ethnicity would matter little to the Westies, especially when he had four pups of mixed roots in tow. They had to get out of Hell’s Kitchen.

He peeked inside the alley and considered the pups. He had to stop referring to them as pups in his head—Wanda and Pietro were in high school (juniors, if Steve remembered correctly) and Kamala had recently celebrated her twelfth birthday. Peter was still a pup, of course. How old was he? God. Steve knew nothing about infants.

More gunshot sounds broke through. “It’s the Westies. After last night’s bombing, I am pretty sure they’ll be trying to take charge of the wreck here,” said Steve. The gangs in Queens had destroyed more families after the air raids there than the bombs themselves—he decided not to add. “We have to get out of here.”

“May’s car. We won’t fit on your bike,” said Kamala, pointing at the dusty white 1968 Chevrolet Impala that was parked in the alleyway. “I can jack it,” Wanda chimed in. Steve eyed his new second-hand Kawasaki forlornly but knew that it was the right call to leave it behind. At least, for now.

They should go to Brooklyn—that was where he had lived his entire life (barring the past year) and most of his friends still lived there. Although he had not known them personally then, the Maximoffs had lived in his neighborhood too. Pietro articulated the same reasoning before Steve could, “Let’s go to Brooklyn. Bed Stuy. Aunt Margali and the Wagners stay there. And your friends too, right Steve?”

Steve nodded his agreement. He used the flat of his palm to slap one of the Chevy’s back windows, with as much force as he could marshal, until the rubber of the window frame came loose without the glass breaking. He then reached through the open window to unlock the car door from the inside.

The hand he had used for the punch (his left) hurt a little. Strange. He inspected it and noticed he had burns on his upper arm and shoulder. Pietro followed the movement of Steve’s eyes, with concern in his own. Steve was shirtless—there was no way to hide the burns. “It’s fine,” Steve said, willing his pheromones to convey he was unhurt. Pietro seemed unconvinced but did not push the point.

Wanda had already set to action hot-wiring the car while Kamala rummaged through the seats. The young alpha held up what must be an emergency diaper bag. “This should help when Peter wakes up and starts crying,” she said, with triumph in her tone.

Kamala and Pietro settled in the rear with Peter, and Wanda sat in the passenger seat next to Steve. They took off, without more dallying.

Steve swerved toward the right on the main street, hoping to get away from the Westies who were still in the lane on the left. Wanda chanced a quick peek backward with her head out of the window as they left Hell’s Kitchen behind. She gave Steve a two-fingered salute, “Alright, let’s do this.”

***

Buildings with top floors gobbled off, roofs with fires still blazing, flames visible inside the windows of houses, concrete debris scattered on the roads, the air thick with smoke, a pervasive stench of fear and confusion—signs of bomb damage marked streets across Manhattan. Last night’s air raids had been more widespread than he had thought.

Despite having to take multiple detours to avoid the debris blockages, they reached Brooklyn in what felt like less than an hour. There was no way to tell—Steve did not have his watch.

The Brooklyn bridge had survived the bombings somehow, but the wreckage continued into Brooklyn. As they entered Bed Stuy, Steve let out an audible gasp. Fuck, this could not be happening.

Steve pulled into the 107th street where Peggy’s home was. The buildings appeared scorched through and were missing parts.

A few people were huddled on the curb to one side. Steve parked the car. “I’ll be back. Stay here,” he told the pups. He stepped out of the car and moved toward the gathering, almost on autopilot. Half-burned bodies had been dragged out and placed neatly in a line on the sidewalk, so that people could find their deceased loved ones easily. Peggy. Dum Dum. Pinky. Morita. Dernier. Steve’s knees gave away and he sank to the ground where he had stood.

The fire and concrete had somehow not rendered any of them unrecognizable—their blank listless faces etched themselves in his mind. Peggy’s features were frozen in a half grin. Was she mocking him from heaven for being alive? Was her inner alpha itching, from the beyond, for a fight with Thanos or perhaps Skull? Or did she want to challenge her death before God himself? Steve would fight on her side against God, if it would bring her back to life.

Steve heard snippets of conversation around him. The air raids had begun in the middle of the night and had besieged most of New York City. Telephone lines were not functioning. Rumor had it that Skull himself had been killed in a bomb fire. With Skull out of the picture, the multiple gangs that controlled their own individual pockets of the city would, no doubt, try to expand their territory. Turf wars were inevitable in the upcoming days. Happy Sam Sawyer, an elder of the community wanted to make peace with the Thunderbolts who were sure to raid the neighborhood soon.

Steve’s senses became alert at the mention of the Thunderbolts.

He noticed that Wanda had walked up to him. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. She knew how much the Howlies meant to him.

The younger kids (Wanda included) had christened his friends and him ‘The Howling Commandos’ because they had taken to noisily patrolling the neighborhood in a bid to keep the Thunderbolts away. The group of alphas had been largely successful in detracting gang members and were treated like something of a good Samaritan gang of their own.

And now, they were all dead. Well, except for Steve. And wait, Gabe? Gabe had moved two blocks away after being mated. Steve should check on him. It was the same street as where Wanda’s cousins lived. And the Barnes, prompted his mind, unbidden. Steve did not want to address why but the thought of the Barnes family being harmed did not sit well with him.

“Let’s check Fogwell’s street,” he said to Wanda and got up. They walked the few steps back to the car and retook their seats in silence—Kamala and Pietro did not require an explanation.

Fogwell’s was more deserted than other streets, perking Steve’s defenses up instinctively. He could see a black motorcycle outside the Murdock residence. It had the shiny red Thunderbolts insignia on it. If he were being tactical, he would have known not to engage. With four pups in his charge, he could not afford to be involved in a fight. Yet, his blood sang to him with the need to investigate.

He parked the car in an alleyway, a little distance from the Murdocks’ place and out of sight of the main street. “Stay here,” he whispered. His tight expression and fight-ready scent brooked no disobedience.

The alpha sniffed the air on his way to the building and was immediately hit with a maelstrom of smells—panic, aggression, lust. And something else. He swallowed. Resignation? The nerves that that last emotion brought up in him made him almost sprint to its source.

He paused at the entrance. There were at least four people inside—two grown alphas, one alpha pup and one young omega. Having surveyed the inside with his nose, Steve dashed through the door. His inner alpha was responding to one of the scents with an aching familiarity that he refused to acknowledge.

Past the door, on the floor of the hallway, he could see a young blond alpha hunkering over a slim omega. The omega’s face was obscured by his long dark brown hair and his dark clothes were in tatters. He was leaning away from the alpha, who shared an uncanny resemblance with Steve himself.

The cheap clone blond alpha pawed at the brunet’s chest and took one exposed nipple into his mouth. Steve averted his eyes, uncertain if he had inadvertently stepped in on an intimate moment.

“No, please no. Stop,” whimpered the omega. Fear and resignation spiked up in the omega’s scent.

Steve saw red.

His fist had made contact with the other blond’s face before either of them could grasp what was happening. He continued to pummel the alpha, taking advantage of the man’s surprise—in his lust-ridden state, the man had not detected Steve’s presence until the hit. The surprise was short-lived, though, and Steve’s adversary started giving it back to him, in earnest.

Steve saw from the corner of his eye that the omega had taken the alphas’ fight as an opportunity to flee to an adjoining room.

The alphas traded punches for a while—the clone blond was not weak. But Steve was unquestionably stronger. He got the upper hand soon, pulling the man into a chokehold and mentally counting the seconds until he passed out.

With one threat neutralized, Steve turned to the next room. The omega and an alpha pup seemed to be battling another alpha. This alpha was shirtless (as was Steve, he remembered) and had scars covering his torso in an ornate pattern. He was also blond (why were all these Thunderbolts blond, again?) and had his hair slicked back.

The alpha was getting his ass handed to him by the omega and the pup. The brunet sashayed around—his dark locks flying every which way—leading the alpha in circles while the pup sat at the floor swatting the much larger man’s ankles with a walking stick. More vicious dance than combat. The stick’s swats on bare skin gave a mordant beat to it, too. In no time, the man thumped to the floor, unconscious.

With the scarred alpha down, the pup, who could not have been over eight years old and who Steve was, only now, noticing was blind, rose to his feet. He stood tall in front of the omega, as if to defend him. “Go away. Or I will fight you,” said the pup, facing Steve—his voice low but firm.

“It’s alright Matt. We are okay now. He’s a friend,” cut in the omega, from behind. “You won’t hurt us, right Rogers?”

“Barnes?”

Bucky? Bucky. Bucky!

The brunet poked his head out from behind the pup and grinned at Steve, eyes wide with some emotion Steve could not place (had to be relief).

Now that the fear and looming danger were purged from the air, Bucky’s clean minty scent dominated Steve’s senses. Mint with hints of bitter. It was an unusual combination for an omega—they typically smelled floral or fruity. But Bucky’s aroma had always been a bracing fresh. And a little salty?

The scent memory transported Steve to a different phase of his life when he had been a skinny runt of an alpha and Bucky a dreamboat of an omega. They had never been friends, really. In their society, unmated alphas and omegas could hardly share a connection outside of courtship. Bucky was a few years younger than him, but they had grown up in one neighborhood, had run in the same circles and had a lot of common friends. Steve’s pal and fellow Howlie Gabe and Bucky’s friend Monty were even mated. Hell, there was a time when not a day would have passed without them meeting or running into each other, at least, once.

Steve might even have been a little infatuated with the man but that was hardly noteworthy—half the alphas in the neighborhood and even some of the betas had had a crush on him. Bucky was gorgeous. And kind and passionate, to boot. Steve had witnessed the burgeoning activist in Bucky, many a time.

But that had been almost four years ago. Before everything had changed. Before his ma’s illness. Before Bucky had left for finishing school in the south. Before his ma’s death. Before Bucky’s father’s illness. Before Steve moved away from Brooklyn. And before Bucky’s betrothal to some alpha no one knew. Before the war.

But even now, with half of his shirt torn and his dark trousers ripped from the sides, blue-black bruises beginning to develop on his chest, and dirt and ash caking his face, Barnes looked like a dream. His pale blue eyes shone like pearls in a dark ocean and he held himself up with a swan’s grace—Steve wanted to draw him, right then and there.

“Thanks for helping me out there. You know, with Simpson. I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t showed up when you did,” Bucky drifted off nervously, looking away from Steve.

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Steve automatically. God, he never knew what to say to comfort people. He wanted to pull Bucky into a hug to make him feel safe and secure, but knew it would be inappropriate and, worse, might make him feel less safe. He tamped down the urge.

The scarred alpha started to stir. Quick as a wink, the pup—Matt—responded with a whack to the man’s head.

“We need to leave this place. These thugs won’t stay down forever. And more ‘bolts could come searching for them,” said Bucky, turning to Matt.

“Come with me?” Steve was surprised by his own forthcoming, but the suggestion made sense. “Pietro and Wanda will be happy to see you.” He thought it best to not get into how happy it made him to see Bucky.

“They’re with you?” asked Bucky. “Figures. Y’all were all in Hell’s Kitchen, right? Did they bomb Manhattan, too? Is Aunt Django with you?”

Steve hesitated, unsure what to address first. “They bombed the whole city. Django and Marya died in the fire. Barely anyone made it.” Bucky’s face fell into a deeper frown with every new word that came out of Steve’s mouth.

“But the twins are okay. You’ll see,” the blond added.

The addition did not placate the omega much but Bucky locked hands with Matt and said to Steve resolutely, “Lead the way, Rogers. Anywhere’s gotta be better than here.”

The pup was still sending out cautious vibes at Steve, but he nodded. They paused for a minute outside one of the rooms—Matt’s head dropped, and his lips moved in what must have been a silent prayer for his dead father inside.

Then, Bucky and Matt followed Steve, in lockstep, to the parked car.

Wanda and Pietro climbed out of the car upon seeing the two newcomers. “Bucky! Matty! Goodness, I’m so glad you’re both alive. Everything has been so crazy since last night. I don’t even know what to think. We’d had a nice dinner and gone to sleep and then when I woke, there was fire everywhere. Feels like a nightmare,” said Pietro in a frantic rush, as he and Wanda pulled Bucky and Matt into a group hug.

Steve did not want to intrude but caught himself wanting to be a part of the hug. It had been such a long morning.

Steve had not known Matt when he lived in Brooklyn (only his father Jack and that too, not personally) but evidently, Pietro and Wanda knew him—they seemed to know children better than he did, anyway.

The twins introduced Kamala and baby Peter to Bucky and Matt. “Do you know if there’s a restroom I could use somewhere? I really need to pee,” said Kamala in lieu of an introduction. “Sorry, I’ll meet you both properly once I’m not bursting,” she said, sheepishness and humor tinging her tone.

Bucky smiled, endeared. “I guess we could go to my place? The ground floor rooms are still intact and Happy Sam’s boys have been by to clear the bodies,” he broke off. “Yeah, my family is gone too. I think Matt and I are the only one’s from this street who made it.” Steve raised one eyebrow—how did Bucky know? “I overheard those ‘bolts listing the names of the dead when I followed them,” added the omega answering Steve’s unasked question.

“You shouldn’t have followed them,” interjected Matt gravely. Steve was inclined to agree.

“I told you I couldn’t have just let them get to you. There were two of them. And they weren’t planning to come cook you a meal,” countered Bucky. “Still,” sighed the pup. They had probably had this argument earlier in the house.

“Anyway, we should go to my place. We need to get away from those goons soon.” Bucky chuckled and brushed a hand through his hair self-deprecatingly, “I didn’t mean for that to rhyme.”

***

They opted to walk to the Barnes’ residence since it was only a few houses away. Pietro spoke to Bucky as they walked, “So, when you said everyone else on the street was gone? Did that include Aunt Margali?”

Bucky nodded, “I checked on Szardos myself since we’re right next door, you know? She probably died in her sleep. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not on you,” said Pietro, patting Bucky’s arm.

Wanda inclined her head in agreement. “What about Kurt?” she added, her voice faltering.

Bucky was quick to reassure her. “He should be alright, don’t worry. The Wagners left for New Orleans, last week. To some friend’s place? After what happened in Queens, they were worried about another Titan attack. So, they left last week. Szardos sent Amanda with them, too. I don’t know why she didn’t go herself.”

“Only she knew why she did whatever she did. So enigmatic, she was. It’ll be different without her,” said Pietro. “Well, it’ll be different without mom and mama too,” piped in Wanda, sardonically.

“Everything will be different. Our world just became more dangerous than ever,” agreed Bucky. They had reached the Barnes home.

The building was an older construction. In fact, Steve and the Howlies had spent one summer, during their teens, renovating the building and strengthening its foundations. Bucky’s alpha mother Winifred Barnes had commissioned the neighborhood boys for the task and had stood watch to make sure the young alphas would not make advances towards the young omega in her home. She had been a strict parent and stricter employer. Steve observed that the building had fared better than others in the area.

Bucky muttered on as he ushered everyone in, “World’s all different. But we still gotta pee.” He pointed at the bathroom in the hall, “And clean up too, come on. We are all covered in gunk.” He absently rubbed at his chest with the edge of his black shirt’s remaining sleeve.

Steve swallowed—he remembered how the Thunderbolt alpha had put his disgusting mouth on Bucky’s nipple. If anyone noticed the unexpected jolt of fury that Steve radiated for an instant, they chose to ignore it. He pushed the rage away—it wouldn’t do for him to lose control around the pups. Or around Bucky, for that matter.

Oblivious to his inner unrest, Kamala handed the baby Peter to Steve and hurried to the bathroom. Bucky took Matt to what Steve recalled was the omega’s bedroom (not that he had ever been there except for renovation-related reasons). Pietro and Wanda seemed to know their way around the place and head straight for what, Steve’s memory filled in again, was Bucky’s sister Becca’s room. The twins were of the same age as Becca and had probably been friends with her. When she had been alive. Fuck, she was dead too now.

Steve looked at the infant in his arms and realized that everyone here had lost all their loved ones last night. Everyone, other than him, that is. Sure, he had lost his friends—the Howling Commandos (even Gabe, according to Bucky’s overhearing). But Steve had lost his only family—his ma—long before last night. He had been alone a while now and he knew it.

His melancholy was cut short by Bucky’s return to the hall. The omega now wore a soft grey long sleeved tee and had obviously cleaned up a little. Matt must have let him use the washroom first—alpha chivalry.

“Only three working bathrooms, I’m afraid. The one upstairs in my parents’ room must be out of commission, I think. What with the fire and all? You can use this one after Kamala’s done, I guess,” said Bucky, looking embarrassed.

Steve did not understand Bucky’s embarrassment—three bathrooms in one home were a luxury and a fourth was extravagant—but Bucky’s family had always been rich. Their fortunes had been dwindling though—Winifred’s indebtedness had been the subject of much rumor, especially after Bucky’s omega father George’s illness. The slander had followed Bucky’s engagement too—it was speculated that Bucky’s betrothed had promised to pay a sizeable bride price. Steve, for his part, had not believed the rumors. Growing up, Bucky had been vocal about omega rights—the whole bride price nonsense would not sway the younger man.

“I brought you something to wear. You know—," Bucky wagged his eyebrows at Steve’s bare upper body. Steve had practically forgotten that he was shirtless. But under the omega’s gaze, he felt self-conscious. His alpha growth spurt had helped him gain bulk, but Steve trained hard everyday to maintain his physique. Knowing that Bucky could see him made the alpha want to both preen and blush simultaneously.

“It might be a little tight but will hopefully do for now?” said Bucky, placing a light blue Henley on the couch next to where Steve was still standing.

“Thanks,” said Steve. He tried to meet Bucky’s eyes, but the omega cast his head down and glanced away. Bucky had been embarrassed about staring at Steve, realized the alpha.

“I also brought this burn cream,” said Bucky, placing an ointment tube next to the T-shirt. “For your arm,” he gestured. “The burns don’t look too bad—probably only first degree—but the cream should help.” The brunet dithered then, as if he were considering offering more.

Before he could make up his mind, Kamala stepped out of the bathroom. Her eyes looked puffy, like she’d been crying. “Sorry, it took me so long,” she hedged.

“That’s no problem,” said Bucky, gently. He turned to Steve with his hands outstretched, “Here. You can hand baby Peter to me if you wanna go clean up, Rogers. And don’t forget to use the cream.”

“Thanks,” said Steve again. It sounded so plain to him—what sort of a charmless alpha was he if he could not even express his appreciation properly? He passed the pup to Bucky, making sure to not brush against him in the process. He picked up the T-shirt and burn cream that the omega had so graciously brought for him and strutted out of the hall.

Shutting the bathroom behind him, Steve allowed himself a long groan. He washed his face at the basin and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked normal, like he always did, despite all the unprocessed emotions that were bubbling within him. He could tell that the morning’s events were taking a toll on him, but he could not let that happen. He had to be strong.

He swiftly saw to his morning ablutions. He washed his torso and back with his hands as best as he could and then, used a fresh towel roll from the rack to clean himself. Then, he carefully applied the ointment on the burns on his arm and shoulder. He imagined the omega’s long fingers (he’d noticed them before, he could be honest with himself) massaging the medicine into his skin. Bucky’s fingers would have been heavenly but even with his own sub-par meaty fingers, it felt soothing. Bucky had been right—the cream did help.

He pulled on the Henley that Bucky had given him. The omega’s aroma inundated him momentarily—he was wearing Bucky’s T-shirt. The thought made happy butterflies dance in his core. They were of almost the same height, but the brunet was slimmer. So, the top was a snug fit on him. Not that Steve minded—it felt like the omega’s embrace. With Bucky’s olfactory presence supporting him, Steve mustered the strength to venture back outside.

He returned to the hall to Bucky and Pietro squabbling over Peter’s diapers. “I grew up changing diapers, Pietro—including yours, by the way. And I know those were all cloth diapers, but I know what I’m doing. My pal Monty had a pup last year. You came to celebrate her first birthday, remember? Anyway, I’ve changed her diapers many times. And yes, those were disposable—this new baby-shape type. I’d gone with Monty myself on Sunday and we’d bought a whole new monthly pack. Oh—," Bucky halted, mid-rant.

He looked lost for a bit, but shook his head, “Sorry. I just realized…realized that little Gabriella will never get to wear any of them.” The brunet regarded his hands uncertainly—he seemed so very doubtful of himself.

“Maybe we could use them for Peter,” offered Steve, revealing his presence. He was not sure what had inspired that idea—he simply wanted to ease Bucky’s pain.

“Yeah, someone should use them,” agreed Wanda.

“And I’m pretty sure Peter will run out of the ones that Aunt May had in that diaper bag, by today,” added Kamala. “I’ve had the misfortune of seeing how much he poops.”

“It smells disgusting,” stated Matt, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

“That’s just how poop smells, Matty,” assured Bucky, his lips turning up slightly, in mirth. “Alright, I think our Peter here is almost the same age as Monty’s pup, anyway. The diapers should fit.”

“I’ll go get them,” said Pietro. Steve turned to accompany him, but Pietro stopped him, “The Jones’re right next door. I’ll be gone and back before Bucky’s done changing the diaper.”

“I’m already done, Piet,” announced Bucky. Steve had not noticed but evidently Bucky had, indeed, already changed the pup’s diapers while they spoke. God. It must have taken less than a minute. Not that Steve could tell definitively—he was still missing his watch. He stroked his wrist absently.

Meanwhile, Pietro flipped Bucky off and left for Gabe and Monty’s place, undeterred.

Bucky handed the freshly-diapered baby to Wanda, “I’ll go pack.”

“Pack?” asked Steve to Wanda, once Bucky was out of the hall.

“Yeah, we discussed it. We can’t hang around here for long. It’s practically Thunderbolt territory now. So, we decided it’d be best to leave,” she replied, rocking baby Peter to sleep.

“Okay,” Steve processed this development. “Where will we go?”

“Dunno. But out of New York.”

“Alright. And we’re all going?”

“Yes,” said Wanda, at the same time as Matt, who said, “Unless you want to leave some of us behind.” The young alpha’s pheromones bristled with aggression.

“No, of course not. Of course, I don’t want to leave anyone behind. I just thought—,” Steve fumbled. He had thought (well, assumed) that the unknown alpha who Bucky was betrothed to would show up, or, perhaps, Bucky would want to wait for them (him, from what Steve had heard) or something.

“You thought?” teased Kamala.

“Never mind. We are all going. I mean, whoever wants to come along will be safe with me,” declared the blond, just as Bucky returned to the hall with two duffle bags—one grey, one black—and a khaki rucksack.

Bucky placed the bags on the sofa and started, “So, I packed tops and pants for us. Three pairs each, except for Peter. Hope Pietro finds something useful for him. We’ll see what we can do otherwise. Anyway. Rogers, my clothes should work for you. Wanda, I packed Becca’s clothes for you and Pietro. And for you too, Kamala. I scrounged up some of her older clothes for you, Matty, but we might have to fold up the sleeves and legs. All the clothes are in these duffles. And a few of Becca’s books. And some basic stationery.”

Steve and the three young pups nodded. Little Peter yawned his ascent too—he had, blessedly, been such an unobtrusive baby throughout the morning.

“I also packed whatever medicines I could find—Pops was taking meds for all sorts of things, so we should be covered. Also, a flashlight, a knife, matchboxes. And some snacks—mostly cookies and chips, jerky, some fruit. And water bottles. Those are all in this rucksack.”

“Perfect,” added Pietro from the doorway. His hands were laden with a heap of tiny clothes and a large bag.

Bucky moved to relieve Pietro of the baby clothes. He began folding and stuffing them into one of the duffle bags—the grey one—as Pietro spoke, “They had this huge load of diapers. And huge pack of formula sachets. A huge pack of baby wipes. Did they only buy monthly packs? Also, a baby blanket. And baby powder and a couple of rattles and a pacifier and a sling and a bunch of other baby things.” He made it sound singsong by the end of his description.

Bucky grinned in response.

Having finished with the baby clothes, Bucky went for the bag in Pietro’s hands. He meticulously portioned out some of the diapers, formula sachets and wipes into the smaller diaper bag that May had. He packed the baby blanket and the other items into either the grey duffle bag or the diaper bag, based on rationale that was unknown to Steve and likely beyond his ability to comprehend—the omega was incredibly organized.

“Anything else?” Bucky asked. The group could not think of anything else.

“Let’s go, then,” said Wanda, who had handed the baby to her twin as soon as his hands were rid of the baby bag. The pups trailed behind Wanda out of the door. The beta was a natural leader, Steve noted.

Bucky stayed at the back of their troupe with Steve as they walked to where the Chevy was parked. Steve carried the two duffle bags in his hands and the rucksack on his back, while Bucky had both the large and small baby bags. The omega brushed closer to Steve and said softly, “I also picked up cash and whatever gold we had at home. Who knows whether they’ll accept Skull’s currency wherever we end up? I have some of the money on me, but the rest is in an inside pocket of the grey duffle.”

Bucky could easily have chosen not to divulge this information to Steve. What’s more, telling Steve made the omega more vulnerable. A disreputable alpha could have used the information against the omega—stolen the money or coerced him for it. Steve recognized the act of trust for what it was and was so surprised by it that his hand reached for Bucky’s involuntarily.

It was tricky with the bags in both their hands, but the blond managed to clasp the brunet’s hand in his own and squeezed it tightly for a moment. He poured into the gesture all the gratitude and admiration and hope he felt for Bucky but couldn’t express in words.

When Bucky squeezed his hand back in that moment, it felt like benediction.

He knew, then, that he would do everything in his power to protect Bucky and the five pups in their care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic descriptions of Bombing and Death: The first half of the chapter is set in a burning building. Steve tries to rescue the residents, but six of them are already dead. The deaths described are from the fire, from being crushed under debris or from asphyxiation. No blood or injuries are described. Basically, it’s just Steve guessing the cause of death. There is a description of the smell of burning bodies.
> 
> Multiple Minor Character Deaths: Peggy Carter, The Howling Commandoes (except Bucky), Bucky’s sister and parents, Kamala’s brother and parents, Wanda and Pietro’s adoptive parents (Django and Marya Maximoff), May Parker (Aunt May), Jack Murdock, Margali Szardos. They are all already dead when the story begins and are not seen interacting with the living characters (except in Steve’s memories).
> 
> Attempted Rape: One of the Thunderbolts gang members (Frank Simpson) attempts to rape Bucky. He manages to start assaulting Bucky’s upper body, but Steve intervenes before more can take place. In a separate scene, Steve recollects the same instance of assault.
> 
> Violence: Steve engages in a fist fight with the Thunderbolt Simpson. Bucky and Matt fight another Thunderbolt, with Matt hitting the man with his walking stick on the ankles and once on the head. Both the Thunderbolts are rendered unconscious in the fights. In a separate scene, gunshots are heard in the background. Gang violence is vaguely alluded to, but nothing is described.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Would love to hear what you think of the story. Please do comment or leave kudos if you like it. 😊


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